


Heart of the Sea

by afterandalasia



Category: Moana (2016)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Femslash, Goddesses, Love, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Movie(s), Tenderness, Thank You Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 09:07:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8838691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: A year on, it seems only right to return to the island of Te Fiti, to show her gratitude. Moana does not expect, though, for the goddess to express gratitude in return, and certainly does not expect the form that expression will take.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic in the fandom, and apparently I'm going straight in with the smut. This does not surprise me.
> 
> Underage because fic is set one year post-movie, and Moana is therefore 17.

It seemed fitting, a year on, to return to Te Fiti’s shores. Moana went alone, in the small canoe that had carried her so well before, with water and food for herself and one of the first coconuts from their new-settled island as a gift of thanks. Perhaps it was a strange thought, to bring a coconut to thank an island, but she thought that it might be appreciated all the same.

She made landfall not long before dark, and walked the shores in the sunset and the moonlight; no beaches, not here, the lush green plants running right down to the sea. It smelt warm and rich and earthy, and Moana smiled at the deep feeling of _peace_ that ran through the island. It was good to see it so different from the year before.

There was no need for a fire, or for a full shelter; she trusted Te Fiti and the weather both. Instead, she spread out a blanket across the soft vines and mosses on the ground and stretched out to watch the stars. It was even more comfortable than she had expected.

Out of habit, she held up her hand, thumb outstretched, and measured the stars against each other. It was an action as familiar as blinking, these days. Smile lingering on her lips in the warm summer air, she rested her head on her arm and turned onto her side to drift into sleep.

The sound of humming woke her. Moana frowned even as she drifted back to consciousness, slowly taking in that there was, indeed, a soft female voice humming nearby. She blinked, shifted, and half-sat up to look around.

A woman sat beside her, looking out over the sea, with her knees hugged up to her chest. Her skin was a little darker than Moana’s own, her long hair such a deep black that it was tinted almost green. The tune that she was humming felt familiar, although Moana could not place it.

More than that, there was no sense of threat about her. If there had been, Moana slept with her oar still close at hand, but she had no urge to reach for it, even as some way to defence herself.

“Who are you?” said Moana. She could hear that her own voice was still rough with sleep.

Ceasing her humming, the woman looked around. She had full cheeks, a ready smile on her lips, and gleaming moss-green eyes that made Moana catch her breath. “Don’t you know?” she replied.

Moana found herself tongue-tied, unable to speak, unable to _move_. She knew those eyes, knew the warmth in the voice even if she did not know the voice itself. She made a strangled sound that was supposed to be ‘ _But_ ’, though it was probably unintelligible, and looked round to the island as if to check that it was actually still there. Considering she was not already in the sea, the answer probably should have been obvious.

The woman chuckled, low and warm. “I didn’t expect you to come back,” she said. “But I’m glad that you did.”

“I came to say thank you,” said Moana. “And to check how things were.” Another blink, and she managed to remember the coconut still waiting on board her canoe. She had intended to set it upon the island as she left, but it seemed appropriate, with Te Fiti before her, to hand it over.

She scrambled to her feet and ran for her canoe, vaulting the low rise behind which she had been sleeping. The sun was still low in the sky, shadows long and air soft, and Moana could feel her body still waking.

She retrieved the coconut and hurried back, but was surprised to realise that she was not overawed at meeting Te Fiti again. Perhaps it was the _again_ that drove that, or perhaps it was the sense of peace that surrounded the goddess, the smile that seemed entrenched in her eyes.

“Here,” said Moana, as she returned. She dropped to her knees at Te Fiti’s side, and offered up the coconut with both hands. “From our new groves, on our new island.”

Te Fiti slipped it from her hands, and Moana’s skin tingled where their fingers brushed against each other. Cradling the great nut in her hands, Te Fiti smiled as she looked it over, running her fingertips against the husk. “You are doing well by the sea.”

“It’s doing well by us,” Moana admitted. “The new islands have rich soils.”

Te Fiti’s eyes sparkled. “But it is the sea that you love the most.”

At that, Moana could not help a smile. It was true; she never felt more alive than when she was surrounded by the sea, one with the rhythm of the waves and breathing in the salt-sweet air. “Yes,” she admitted.

Te Fiti uncurled her legs, stretching them out in front of her, and only then did Moana realise that she wore no clothes. Her hair was so long and thick over her shoulders that Moana had not realised, and now she quickly averted her eyes. Speaking with a goddess was one thing; speaking with a naked goddess did manage to feel like another.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Te Fiti cock her head, sunlight rippling in her hair. “Do not be shy on my account,” she said. “Clothes are a newer invention than you might think. I remember when Mele bought them to you.”

Moana pushed her hair back off her shoulders, and cast her eyes to the ground around Te Fiti’s feet. A mahoe plant was sprouting there before her eyes, putting out deep green leaves and already forming the beginnings of buds. For a moment, Moana’s eyes went wide, and she watched the unfurling leave.

Another sweet laugh from Te Fiti made her look round again without thinking; Te Fiti was watching warmly, something between admiration and adoration in her gaze. This time, when Moana looked away, it was with a flush of warmth in her chest, and not embarrassment.

“Moana,” said Te Fiti, voice soft. “Will you meet my eyes with yours?”

She had told Maui that it would be rude to refuse a gift offered by a goddess, and it was hard to think of a gift more fundamental than this. Moana met Te Fiti’s eyes, feeling the warmth settle in her skin and quicken in her breath. “Of course,” she said.

Te Fiti set the coconut aside with reverent care, then pushed her hair back off one shoulder. Her skin was smooth and brown and seemed to almost glow in the low morning light, and Moana caught herself wondering what it felt like.

“Tell me about your new island,” Te Fiti said.

For that, she would never need to be asked twice, and Moana set about describing the new island that her people had found, the mountains and the valleys, the clean-watered springs and the land perfect for cultivation. Before she knew it, she was gesturing with her hands as she spoke, conjuring images with her hands as much as her grandmother ever had, speaking with her body and dancing with her words. All the way, Te Fiti watched, and finally Moana recognised the expression as _pride_.

As Moana trailed off, breathless and finally having run out of things to say, Te Fiti extended a hand towards her. Moana looked at it blankly, not sure what the goddess might want from her now, what she could possibly have to offer. Feeling bolder, she caught Te Fiti’s eye and gave a tiny shrug, an unspoken question.

“Will you take my hand with yours?” said Te Fiti.

Moana swallowed, mouth suddenly feeling dry. She could not quite blame it on the amount of talking she had just done. “Of course,” she said, and slipped her hand into the one offered.

Te Fiti’s hands were softer than she could have imagined, softer than any hands she had ever touched. They were certainly not hands that wove baskets or hauled nets, built houses or found ways. But they were not weak; there was strength beneath them, and Moana wondered if it was the strength of creation.

Te Fiti ran her fingers over Moana’s skin, fascination in her eyes. “I can feel the sea on your hands,” she said. Her touch almost tickled on the lines of Moana’s palm, and her thumb brushing over Moana’s wrist made her spine tingle. “I can feel the ropes, the oars. But here,” her touch ran down the blade of Moana’s hand, “I can feel the earth, the coconuts and the timbers.”

“I’m impressed,” said Moana, allowing just a hint of playfulness into her voice. She wasn’t sure whether it was the done thing to tease a goddess, but she had certainly got away with teasing a demigod a lot.

Luckily, Te Fiti did not seem to mind, and her smile stayed sweet and warm as she ran her fingers up the inside of Moana’s forearm. Moana caught her breath, at nothing more than the slow drag of skin over skin, the sensation almost ticklish and lingering. Her heart sped up in her chest, and she felt the rush of heat through her again.

She held her tongue, almost wanting to hold her breath, as Te Fiti stroked over her arm. Te Fiti seemed intent on the skin there, tracing the faint veins in Moana’s wrist, the old scar from a fall as a child that was by now almost invisible. Her green eyes never left Moana’s arm, and Moana found herself studying Te Fiti’s face in turn, her long thick lashes, the plush curve of her lips.

“I can feel the sea here, as well,” said Te Fiti, running her hands over the Moana’s biceps. She sounded as if there was some private joke there, which Moana ought to know as well. Perhaps if Moana had felt less breathless, less like the world was tipping just to tilt her towards Te Fiti, she might have known what it was. Te Fiti’s palm cupped the muscle, squeezing gently, then slipped higher still to circle Moana’s shoulder and brush a stray lock of hair from her shoulder.

The warmth prickled and spread under Moana’s skin, and she belatedly recognised it as arousal. Such concerns had always been low on her list; there had always been so many more important things. Suddenly, there were no other things to concern herself with, and she felt both exposed and confined by her clothes in the same moment.

Te Fiti’s gaze met hers again, green and shining and as old as the sky. “Moana,” she said, softly, “will you meet my lips with yours?”

It was not a common thing for Moana to find herself speechless, but she nodded wordlessly then, remembering who she was and pulling herself from her surprise, leant in to kiss Te Fiti.

If her skin had been soft, her lips were softer still, warm and giving and with a sweet, earthy taste to them. It had been surprise and not fear that had caught her, and as the surprise fell away she sought out the kiss, searching Te Fiti’s lips with her own. Te Fiti sighed, like the whispering wind, and cradled Moana’s cheek to deepen the kiss

Moana had tried a kiss or two, here and there, but they had never particularly caught her interest. But kissing Te Fiti was like feeling the sun on her face and the sea at her fingertips, and it made her feel wild and free.

Te Fiti slipped her tongue between Moana’s lips, and Moana accepted it gladly. This, she had not tried before, but she did her best to reciprocate and trace Te Fiti’s mouth with her tongue in response. Warm, soft hands stroked her cheeks, her shoulders, and Moana was for a moment not sure whether she ought to be touching Te Fiti in response. But _ought to_ was probably not the most important thing, she supposed, and reached up to Te Fiti in return.

She ran her fingers through the thick, soft waves of Te Fiti’s hair, crept fingertips up her bare arm. Te Fiti shifted into her, breasts brushing Moana’s arms, and breathed into the kiss with a taste like the sea and the land swept together.

For just a moment, Te Fiti broke the kiss, shadowed gaze locked on Moana’s. “Will you touch my body with yours?” she breathed.

The words sent a shiver down Moana’s spine, sent heat pooling between her thighs. “Yes,” she said, eagerly. “ _Yes_.”

She stripped off her clothes hurriedly, Te Fiti still cupping her jaw and pressing kisses to her mouth, her cheeks, her chin. Somehow they had slid together, legs brushing against each other, and Moana could have cursed her own elbows and knees as she seemed unable to avoid knocking against Te Fiti as she worked her clothes free and cast them aside. But Te Fiti never did more than chuckle, sucking on Moana’s lower lip, and as clothes were shed slid them closer together.

Legs brushing against legs, breasts against breasts. Moana felt as if she could barely catch her breath as she kissed Te Fiti hungrily, sliding their bodies together. She could feel a coiled strength below Te Fiti’s skin, each of the goddess’s moves slow and careful, like controlling a landslide. In a surge of boldness, she tried to push on Te Fiti’s shoulder, to roll her down to her back and straddle her hips, but with a rippling laugh Te Fiti resisted, effortlessly, and instead pushed Moana down among the soft green leaves.

Moana tried to look annoyed, but it was impossble, not with Te Fiti kneeling between her sprawled legs with that warm, longing smile. She ran her hands along Moana’s thighs, and Moana tensed the muscles to stop them from shaking.

“I feel the sea in your arms,” said Te Fiti, voice low and liquid. Her hair half-shadowed her body, the swell of her full breasts and the roundness of her hips. Her body was much softer than Moana’s, thighs not hardened with muscle and work, the muscles of her arms not as visible as they worked beneath her skin. She ran her hands over Moana’s hips, fingertips trailing over the muscles of her abdomen. “I feel it here, as well. But I feel the earth on your hips, in your breasts.”

It did not sound crude, not from a goddess’s tongue. Te Fiti bowed her head and kissed Moana’s stomach, to the side of her navel; Moana’s breath hitched again.

“Without my heart,” the goddess murmured, so that the words seemed as much to be within Moana’s own head as it did to come from Te Fiti’s lips, “I lost the water, and my love for it. No land is complete without water, to quench the fire within it.”

Her lips trailed lower, until she kissed the firm point of Moana’s hipbone where it came closest to her skin. When her tongue trailed over Moana’s skin, Moana closed her eyes, biting her lip and unsure what she could possibly say.

“There is so much love in you, Moana,” Te Fiti said. Another kiss, this one to the very inside of Moana’s thigh. Heat throbbed beneath Moana’s skin, but Te Fiti was right: it was no volcano, no angry heat. It was the warmth of the sand when the sun has lingered on it, the fire that kept back the cool nights. “The sea and the earth and the fire and the air, they are all in you, and you love them all.”

For a moment, Te Fiti paused, fingers feather-light on the outside of Moana’s thighs. She did not raise her head.

“You are not the one who needs to give thanks,” she said.

It was so soft that Moana could barely hear it, and she had no time to respond before Te Fiti dipped her head again and pressed her mouth to Moana’s aching sex. Moana gasped, back arching, as Te Fiti’s tongue explored her skin with an almost tender touch, tracing and tasting her.

She could find no words for the sensation. Her toes curled against the soft earth, fingers tightening on it, as the warmth and pleasure rushed through her like the sunlight through the water. Te Fiti’s mouth was soft and wet against her flesh, laving with her tongue or sucking gently, until Moana felt as if every inch of her skin was shimmering, somehow, rippling like the waves on currents of pleasure, the tension in her shoulders and her arms melting away as that in her sex grew tighter and tighter, hips shifting seemingly of their own accord.

There was no need for words, no need for anything beyond the rhythm of her breaths and the sound of the waves not all that far away. Te Fiti’s mouth grew firmer, more intent, and Moana tilted up her hips in offering as Te Fiti brought her tongue to the apex of Moana’s sex, the point of pleasure there, mouth moving in patterns that made Moana’s knees weaken and fire spread along her spine. She gasped again, almost cried out, and Te Fiti’s hands tightened on her hips, hair water-soft against her thighs.

She squeezed her eyes closed as the pleasure rose in her, until she felt as if she could burst from it, each touch of Te Fiti’s tongue pouring more pleasure into her until her skin burned from the inside out, wrapped over not just blood and bone but _feeling_. The physical pleasure was shot through with a lightness in her chess, a love of the island and the sea and the very world that seemed to buoy her heart within her.

“ _Te Fiti_ ,” she breathed, the words breaking forth, and it was as if a barrier in her broke with it. Pleasure rushed through her, body rising and falling like a wave as her climax overcame her. It rolled over her muscles, tension releasing in a breath, like tumbling down into the earth itself and feeling it embrace her in its warmth.

As the waves crashed down over her, the world around fell away, and only slowly ebbed back in their wake. Moana’s eyes fluttered open again, she for a moment she watched the sky, the faintest high streaks of pale cloud against the deepening blue. Then she sat up, planting her hands on the ground behind her, to see Te Fiti still kneeling between her thighs with that same heart-softening smile upon her face.

“I – thank you,” Moana blurted, sitting up properly. She reached out to cup Te Fiti’s jaw, but Te Fiti caught her hand and pressed a kiss to the palm instead.

“No thanks is needed,” Te Fiti replied. Her eyes sparkled. “Nor reciprocation. I would simply have you know, Moana of Motunui;” for a moment, her tone and her expression both grew more serious, and Moana did indeed hold her breath; “that any god would be right to choose you, and should be thankful for what you are willing to do.” Her lips quirked, just slightly. “It seems you are the best in many a year for finding a way.”

She leant in to kiss Moana’s forehead, soft as a falling petal, but Moana’s eyes closed all the same from the closeness of her. She could smell Te Fiti’s skin, like a hundred island homes all at once, like the home of _all_ , then there was a cool flurry of wind and the touch upon her forehead was gone.

Moana looked up sharply, but Te Fiti was gone. She twisted to check around herself, but saw nothing but the vines, her own discarded clothes, and a mahoe plant whose bright petals turned towards the sun.

Unable to help it, she smirked.

“You’re welcome,” she said.

The wind in the vines might just have sounded like laughter one more time.


End file.
